Home is the hunter
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon is flying Solo, and is tasked with capturing or killing an extremely dangerous Female THRUSH operative. (pre saga)


Every THRUSH temptress has an unpredictable side to them, sometimes making them more dangerous than their male counterparts. The Hierarchy seems to have understood this and consequently filled their ranks with quite a few female operatives.

Now there was a new bird in the nest and her name was Crimson Mortem. A rather ominous sounding moniker that suited her fiery red hair and murderous disposition. She had an evilness about her, and positively oozed it along with an incredible feminine allure. She was perhaps like the black widow who would mate and then devour the male.

Crimson had killed three top Section II agents in the European arena and now she was in New York presumably to continue her exterminations.

Napoleon Solo wasn't sure which was the more potent aphrodisiac, the danger or the thought of bedding this one and living to tell the tale. He had no doubt in his abilities to charm a woman as he was well aware of his sexual prowess in bed, but it was after the love making that could put him in a dicey situation.

It was then he decided not to even attempt to woo Crimson Mortem once he found her. She was too much of an unknown, and a dangerous unknown at that.

Even Angelique, though they had their truce and trysts, Napoleon knew she could turn on him in the snap of a finger, if necessary. Deep down he had a feeling she wouldn't ever do that, kill him that is. He sensed her attachment to him, not love but she definitely cared.

He supposed the same could be said of him, though both U.N.C.L.E. and T.H.R.U.S.H. didn't know that. Their respective organizations thought it was a mere carnal thing and to a point that's what it was. It was tolerated. Minor, near useless intelligence was exchanged periodically, mainly to satisfy the Command and the Hierarchy, but nothing more than that.

But now there was Crimson Mortem…

"Please be careful with this one Mr. Solo," Waverlyn cautioned."I do not want to have to start training a new heir apparent."

The CEA raised his eyebrows; that was the first time the Old Man had ever openly confirmed what had been rumored. Napoleon Solo was indeed to be his replacement when the time came.

"I will endeavor to do so sir." Napoleon slowly rose from his seat at the conference table.

"Do not endeavor young man. You will. No, you _have_ to succeed. Either bring this one in or eliminate her. She is far too dangers to remain at large."

"Isn't Mr. Kuryakin is better suited for a possible assassination sir? Not that I can't do it but…"

"Mr. Kuryakin is occupied elsewhere. Now get the job done Mr. Solo. You are dismissed." Waverly huffed as he sent Napoleon off with a wave of his hand.

He knew his was sending Solo after a formidable adversary and hoped she wouldn't lure him to his death with her deadly feminine wiles. Granted Kuryakin would have been the better choice to resist such a woman but using him was impossible. Knowing it would distract Solo, Waverly deliberately neglected to tell him that Illya Kuryakin had been hospitalized.

The Russian succeeded in accomplishing his latest assignment out in San Francisco, but in the process managed to get hit by a trolley. He was out of surgery at last report, but was in a medically induced coma. That information would not be at all helpful to Solo's concentration.

It was a bit vague as to Crimson's whereabouts in the city; the birds had moved their New York headquarters after the George Dennell-Waverly Ring Affair; UNCLE had been having a bit of difficulty finding their new location since then.

After schlepping around half the city Napoleon hoped to lure the woman out, but all he ended up was being tired and hungry.

He finally stopped in Katz's Deli on the corner of Houston Street and Ludlow Street to get a late lunch. He'd been walking hither, thither and yon, assuming Crimson would spot him and probably shadow his movements, but she didn't show, at least not yet.

Sure, he was setting himself up as a target, in essence the hunter becoming the hunted as he was sure the woman knew what he looked like.

Regardless, Solo was confident he could complete his assignment. His usual optimism aside, Napoleon knew he was the Command's best and could outwit her. He didn't relish the idea of killing a woman, but if he had to, then he would.

Illya was more bloodthirsty than he, most likely due to his Soviet training. He could kill without batting an eye, and usually viewed an enemy's death with some sort of snide remark. Still Kuryakin had a soft side to him and the death of an innocent bothered the guy, ususally sending him into one of his melancholy moods.

Right now Napoleon wished his partner were here, if anything just to watch his back, but no such luck; he was on his own.

There was a quirky system for ordering at Katz's which required each Katz customer be handed a ticket when he or she walked into the restaurant. After that, you picked up your food before paying for the meal at the end.

Napoleon wasn't about to wait in a line and he sat down at one of the tables along the wall, closer to the kitchen door for a quick escape if needed. Glancing up at the numerous photos of the many celebrities who'd frequented the place; even a THRUSH or two had been known to come here for lunch.

The row of tables along the left wall were reserved for patrons who would like a waiter or waitress to handle their meal. He still needed his ticked, as the waiter will write on it and you'd pay on the way out.

Napoleon hoped he'd be able to enjoy the half pastrami on rye he'd ordered, which came with a small tossed salad, that and a nice cup of black coffee was going to hit the spot.

He'd barely bitten into his sandwich when he saw her. Crimson was sitting just a few tables away, staring at him. He knew that she saw him looking back at her and she stood, walking towards him.

Napoleon slowly reached inside his jacket, putting his hand on his gun.

"Oh that won't be necessary Mr. Solo. May I join you?" She smiled, and it was an alluring one at that. The woman was stunning.

"Your photographs don't do you justice Miss Mortem, you're much more beautiful in person," he smiled right back at her.

"Why thank you Mr. Solo."

"Call me Napoleon," he crooned to her, sotto voce.

"And I must say the same about you as well. I just adore that chin of yours and your smile is quite captivating."

Their eyes locked and in the blink of an eye they left Katz's together.

As desireable as she was Napoleon still felt as though he had his wits about him. Yet there was something that was drawing him to her, against his better judgement. They strolled together for several blocks until they happened upon an alleyway.

And there Napoleon took hold of her and pulled her out of view. HE pinned her against a brick wall, enveloping her with his body and kissing her. She was intoxicating yet she didn't resist and responded to him in every way possible.

Why was he so drawn to this woman? He had to have her even if it were here right in the alley. Right now.

Napoleon fought his desire, and forced himself to reach into his suit pocket for a small pistol hidden there. He had to do it, but like an animal in rut he found himself wanting her. There was no other desire except that.

It was then Napoleon heard the distinct 'PFFFT' of a silenced weapon.

Crimson Mortem went limp in his arms, dead. There was the sound of metal striking the ground and he saw a stiletto knife lying at her feet.

Moving catlike along the fire escape Mark Slate appeared, his carbine still in his hands. He hopped down to the ground, speaking as he walked towards Solo.

"She was about to plunge that knife into your back mate."

"And I was about to hit her with a sleep dart from this," he held up his diminutive pistol. He was lying, as all he had been thinking about was screwing the woman.

"By the time it would have taken effect she still would have been able to stab you. I couldn't take the chance, sorry."

Napoleon stared at Crimson's body for a moment. Truth be told, he wasn't ready to use the gun. Had he let her lure him into her trap, all the while thinking he'd lured her.

As his head cleared he noticed a small atomizer clutched in her hand. He picked it up but decided it best not to give it a sniff.

Napoleon thought for a second and snapped his fingers, having a good suspicion what it was.

"Pheromones I bet," he mumbled to himself. That would explain his uncontrollable urge to have sex with her.

"What's that mate?"

"Nothing Mark. I'll take this to R&D to have it analyzed. In the meantime we need a clean up crew to remove the body."

"Got it. You okay Napoleon?"

"I'll be fine. It's never easy seeing a woman die."

"Even a siren as deadly as this one?" Mark asked.

"Yes. By the way, what were you doing here, this couldn't have been a coincidence."

"Mr. Waverly sent me to watch your back just in case. I've been tailing you all day. He was concerned as Crimson Mortem wasn't your average everyday Thrushie."

" _You,_ tailing me? I must be slipping. Do me a favor, let's not tell Illya about this, if you don't mind?"

"Guv, my lips are sealed and as far as this is concerned, _you_ can write the report and put your own spin on it."

"Thanks Mark."

Once the clean up team arrived, the agents vacated the alleyway. As they headed back to headquarters Napoleon wondered to himself. Was it Crimson Mortem Waverly was so worried about or was the Old Man concerned that he couldn't get the job done?"

Napoleon finally broke the silence, reciting a bit of poetry. " _Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie._ _Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will._ _This be the verse you grave for me; here he lies where he longed to be,_ _Home is the sailor, home from sea, and the hunter home from the hill."_

"Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson," Mark recognized it. "Pretty dark. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes Mark, just thinking that someday we hunters might not come back."

Still being ever the optimist, Napoleon had decided it was not a lack of confidence on Waverly's part, but more of a concern that his heir apparent got out of this one alive.


End file.
